The Muse
by Midnight el Gatito
Summary: New chappie...I just can't believe myself sometimes...
1. His thoughts

(rolls eyes) Oy vey. I'm Shadow obsessed, as you can tell. Well, anyway, this is just a wee bit of his rambling thoughts, how I think he feels. If you look closely, there's also a reference to him liking someone other than Maria (gasp!) Who?Guess. No, seriously, I'd like to see what you say! Don't be afraid, I don't bite...often... 

And another thing...does this belong in poetry, or should I just leave well enough alone? Lemme know!

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The pain...like nothing I've felt before... Nothing can take it away...nothing...the only cure died a long time ago...

I tried shielding myself against...it worked...for a while...then it didn't work anymore...she got in with the same words...the promise...

My promise...to her...and her...a second chance...you all blew it...

No more chances...you'll all face the consequences of your actions...

Murderers...all of them...murderers...killing anything and anyone that gets in their way...

That blue orb...so peaceful...like the angels that she collected...does the other collect angels?

She chases him...it's useless...he doesn't care...

Doesn't she see? He doesn't care...he can never care...

Can't you see? Can you understand? He doesn't love you...

It doesn't make sense...why she was killed...and so many others lived...

Why did I live? Why not her? She deserved it...maybe she's not really dead...

As long as I remember...she can never die...

But I'm forgetting...what did her voice sound like? Did it sound like hers? Soft, melodious...

I keep looking at that cursed picture...how did I get it? Who gave it to me?

Nothing makes sense...being plucked out of the sky does that...

Or maybe it's just me...

Maybe it's all me...maybe I really _am_ just a faker...

Faker...someone that lives off of another's identity...

Me...living off the identity of a hero...I'm no hero...

Quite the opposite...I'm nothing but a villian...

She needs a hero...not me...not a weapon...

A weapon...that's all I am...all Project: Shadow was created to be...

A broken weapon...a disillusioned heart...

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...don't ask. Please, just...don't. I don't really know what I was thinking when I wrote this. Maybe reviewing some Sonic Heroes fic I read, or whatever. Hope you halfway like it.

Next time you Sonic (or Shadow) fans hear from me, it'll be even weirder than this. Trust me.

Later

_Kris_


	2. What am I?

Um...hi? OK, so I lied. So shoot me. I really didn't think I was gonna add any more chapters, but, well...life surprises ya sometimes... 

Let me know if you see any grammar or spelling problems, and I'll fix them.

And lastly...guess who the character is? I give a cookie to the first one who gets it right! ;)

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A human philosopher once said, "The eyes are the window to the soul". This is true. I have seen it, time and again.

I'm forced to hide mine, behind a mask of hate and cruelty, veagence and indifference. I've looked into many eyes, dying and hopeless, wishing that it would end for them. When it was only the beginning...

I've looked into my master's eyes. Watched them glow with the taste of revenge. Watched them flare at defeat. Too many times.

I've looked into the eyes of that whom I was modeled after. Saw them glint with excitement, widen in surprise...and once, close in pain.

I now look into the eyes of the girl he saves from me, again and again. Her pupils have dialated, growing huge. A result of fear...fear of a monster. Me.

Her eyes are softer, now. Even as I tighten my hold on her throat, she looks up at me with those green orbs. Keeps staring. At me. Into me. Through me.

I'm not real. Not like her. I am cold, fake, indifferent...but I'm not. I shouldn't; it's impossible. But I have feelings. Looks into my eyes- fake eyes, real eyes -and you will see. Anger, hate...confusion.

What am I? Can a fake being still have a soul?

I was created, not born. I'm not alive. But I can die. With no life...I can die. There is no logic in that. 1 plus 2 is 3, 3 plus 3 is 6...but death with no life? Impossible. Illogical.

And yet...and yet...

When it happens, my central processing unit, my 'brain', will, perhaps slowly, but eventually, shut down. I will lose first my auditory functions. Then, in order, my senses of sight, feel, and ability to process complex problems. Soon, I will not know the answer to the age old question: What's 2 plus 2?

Then...it ends. I'm over, never to be resuscitated again.

Many organics believe in an afterlife, where their souls will go to rest.

What about non-organics? Do we have anything resembling an organic soul? Or do we simply cease to exist, our bodies carted off to create another in our place?

I suppose I should end this log now...I shall find the answers to all my questions soon enough.

Why? One day, the real me shall have more power than I, and I will be helpless to stop him. Utterly...helpless...


End file.
